


Northern Downpour

by The_lazy_eye



Series: Take This To Your Grave [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, College Dropout Richie, Dom Bottom Eddie, Eddie is in Grad school, Hurt/Comfort, It Prompt Week, M/M, Mentions of the Other Losers, Pining, Realization of Feelings, Reunion, Richie POV, Richie is in a band, Sup Top Richie, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, breaking up, homeless Richie, kind of, tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15806175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye
Summary: He turns left at the corner, walks one more block, and then turns right. Sure enough, standing by the doors of the Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants tour bus is Eddie. He was facing away from where Richie had stopped cold in his tracks and was talking to a girl. Richie stands there for a moment admiring the view he has. He can feel that ice cold fear creeping up his arms and into his throat. It’s like his legs are cemented in place and if he moves, even takes one step forward, the illusion in front of his will shatter and he’ll find himself alone on this sidewalk.





	Northern Downpour

**Author's Note:**

> It Fandom Week, Day two: August 26th- Angst / Break up/ Reunion
> 
> Can be read as a stand alone but the previous work, Bishop's Knife Trick, helps make some of the minor details a lot more clear.

_If all our life is but a dream_  
Fantastic posing greed  
Then we should feed our jewelry to the sea  
For diamonds do appear to be  
Just like broken glass to me

Life was not glamorous by any definition of the word. He did not have jewelry. He did not have diamonds. He threw nothing over the edge of his hull and into the sea. What he had, and all that mattered, was his guitar, some damn good friends, and a half-finished college degree.

In the six years between his departure from his hometown and his unexpected reunion with a childhood friend, Richie Tozier had struggled no more and no less than anyone else in the greater L.A. area.

Some people might say this is a bold-faced lie, but Richie thinks it’s perfectly reasonable. To get where you are at any given point in life is to take risks and work hard. There is nothing Richie has now that wasn’t earned. When he started off on his own he received monthly wires of money from his parents. He hadn’t needed it for much. He lived in the dorms on his university campus but they sent it anyway. He ended up using that money for what basically any other teenage boy would use it for: drugs, alcohol, and condoms.

Richie was a smart boy and the proof showed on his high school transcripts and his marks. The issue with college wasn’t really the material he was studying – okay yeah it was dry as fuck – it was his interest in it. College wasn’t what he dreamed it would be. Before he left Derry, Richie used to dream of what it would be like to escape into a new world full of bright colors and endless opportunities. When this dream became a reality in front of him he realized he was seeing the world through rose tinted lenses and the real college life was nothing like that.

Still, he gave it a solid shot for two years. He got decent grades but he just wasn’t invested. It took him months of pestering from his advisor to declare a major and even then, he skated by on the academic coattails of his peers. He was far more interested in running for president of Home Improvment, the school’s improv club, than studying for exams or writing papers.

In the winter of his sophomore year his parents cut him off. They stopped paying his tuition and sending him his monthly wires. “We’re not paying for you to be fucking around in California” his father had said to him one day on the phone. They offered him a place back in Maine until he could figure out what he wanted to do with his future but Richie outright refused. He would rather struggle on his own in California than go back home to Derry, Maine.

There’s honestly no wonder his life at UCLA was short lived. He smoked – nicotine and greenery – on campus too much for administration’s likings, showed up to classes late, and was always causing a scene in the various courtyards. The campus was absolutely massive and Richie had somehow managed to make a name for himself in as little as two months there. The weather was consistently enjoyable. There was no impending doom that was typically associated with autumn. Winter was not right around the corner. This enabled Richie to perform all over campus, gathering a small band of friends and putting on skits and shows in the dining hall, the quad, the lobby of academic buildings, and basically anywhere he could get someone to pay attention to him. It began with Richie flaunting his ever-improving voices to anyone who would listen, anyone who would give him a chuck or two. Then some people began to engage with him, firing back with equally witty comments and some pretty nifty voices of their own. They started to meet up, exchange numbers, actually get to know each other, and coordinate impromptu shows around campus. At first, people just passed them and wrote them off as over enthusiastic freshmen but somewhere along the way they had gained loyal followers. These people were typically the ones who walked the same way every day to and from class and would inevitably pass the group. Some people, however, changed their route entirely to make sure they did or didn’t cross paths.

This is how he met Amber. She passed him on the sidewalk one day, walked up to him, shouted “Hey fucker! I can do an impression, too!” and then proceeded to launch into an Ariana Grande voice that had Richie tripping over his feet. He only faltered for a second before dropping the octave and joining in. They got maybe four measures into Dangerous Woman before breaking out into a fit of giggles.

Amber was all teeth and nails. She wore black high-top converse with ripped skinny jeans and a dark blue short sleeved Henley shirt the day they met. He originally planned to take her back to his dorm for some fun but she left him rejected flat on his ass on the sidewalk. Still, she showed up the next day.

Things just kind of spiraled from there. They were two peas in a pod together. Together, with Richie’s guitar and their voices they officially became the first two members of  _Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants._ Richie taught Amber how to play guitar and Amber taught Richie about harmonizing and creating lyrical melodies. They would spend hours holed up in one of their dorm rooms writing lyrics and trying to create melodies to match them. Before the band became whole they managed to write about ten songs together. Only two transitioned into the final band but they loved to sing the other eight when they were just fucking around. Call them sentimental, if you will.

Upon his withdrawal from UCLA Richie effectively became homeless. This was entirely his own choice. He had options, he just refused to take them. Besides, roughing it on the streets of LA wasn’t really roughing it at all. All of the stuff he cared to hold onto was in a storage unit and he picked up a job as a bar back at Rage, a local gay club not too far from his campus. He worked nights and slept through the mornings at beaches or in parks. By the time he was awake and ready to face the day all of his friends were finishing up with classes. He still went to Home Improvment, the others snuck him in religiously. It’s where he met Jake, and Nick. They were all in varying years at UCLA but all heavily involved in the club. The three of them were always the first to volunteer and had naturally gravitated towards each other. In his spare time, he continued to practice with Amber. At one point or another the four of them got together and, as it turns out, Nick could hold a decent rhythm on the drums and Jake knew bass.

Thus, the final product of  _Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants_ was born. In the fall of his second year they started to perform at venues around and on their campus. Nothing really came of it until the middle months of the spring semester. Richie was bar backing at Rage the night after a performance when a man in a suit tapped on his bar to presumably order a drink. He hadn’t thought much of it. Rage was a place for college kids, yes, but that didn’t stop the occasional sugar daddy from stopping in and buying drinks for the younger boys. It was creepy but Richie always made sure to step in if something went too far.

Instead of ordering the usual bay breeze for the closest twink in the club the man kept his eyes trained on Richie. Another common occurrence. Richie wasn’t unattractive by any means and he knew it. Sometimes he would go home with someone just so he could sleep in a real bed. He paid his rent in cheap sex, slept until noon, and then went on his way. He alternated between couches, benches, and beaches.

Richie watched him closely as he moved around his station behind the bar. He was average height with a sharp jaw and maybe jet-black hair. The lights were frantically flashing and changing color all around them so it was impossible to know unless they stepped out into the warm, still night. He could go home with him, sure, but he really wasn’t in the mood tonight. He was sure he was going to have to think of some kind of excuse to get this man to leave the bar either empty handed or with a different prize. The man tapped two fingers on the bar towards Richie and smiled. Richie smiled back, wry and thin lipped, and made his way over.

“I saw you play last night!” he tried to yell over the music at Richie. The club was too loud for any lengthy conversation and all drink orders were normally done in short shouts. Richie strained his ears, leaning in to try and make out the words, but he only caught  _saw_  and  _last night_. It was enough for Richie to understand. This man had seen him play.

Richie was sure this was some ploy to get inside of his pants. He started to shrug him off and ask for his drink order when the man tapped his fingers again, drawing Richie’s attention downward. Under the man’s pointer and middle finger was a small business card. He furrowed his brows and looked back up at the man. The man simply smiled at him, a genuine sort of look, pushed the card towards Richie, and made to leave.

Richie watched as the man made his way through the crowd towards the door. It felt like all of the air was sucked out of the room, taking the noise with it. Suddenly he wasn’t at a crowded gay club in a college city anymore. It was just him, a white rectangular card, and the retreating silhouette of a man who held the power to change his life.

“Rich, snap out of it man! We got drinks to make!”

Suddenly the air rushed back into the room and he was slammed with the force that came with the change of his perception. The noise was loud, much louder than he remembered it being, and when he looked around there were probably more than fifty people trying to order drinks from them. He quickly slipped the card in the front pocket of his uniform shorts and stepped back into his reality. He had a job to do and tips to earn. Tomorrow's dinner wasn’t going to pay for itself.

He wasn’t walking out the door until sometime after five in the morning. Last call was three and there was still about an hour to go before the club was entirely empty. From there he was stuck with cleaning up shop and it was no easy task. Between the bar, the dance floors, and the bathroom there was plenty of work to go around. The sky was only just beginning to turn a deep purple, signifying the arrival of the sun, as he walked aimlessly down the sidewalk. He didn’t have anywhere to be but he still caught the 5:14 bus back to UCLA in hopes that he can crash in someone’s dorm or apartment and maybe wash his work uniform. It isn’t until later, when he finds himself in Nick’s studio apartment getting ready to load the washer that he finds it. He checked the pockets of his shorter-than-necessary jean shorts to make sure he hadn’t forgotten any stray tip money when he felt the blunt edge of cardstock.

The card read as follows:  
Larry Garver  
A & R Coordinator  
Capitol Records  
Hollywood, Los Angeles, California, U.S

Underneath the printed writing was a phone number in neat, professional handwriting.  _What the fuck?_  It took him a minute before he realized what it meant. The man in the club had said something about seeing him play and had entered into his workplace not with the intention of hooking up with some college boy but to drop this card on the counter and leave. He didn’t even try to get Richie to step away and talk to him. He just left.

Richie scrambled through the apartment before realizing his phone had been shut off the week before. All of his money had either gone to food or into his band and his phone was a nonessential. Most of the time it was hooked up to WIFI and he could text his managers, friends, and parents. Phone calls were never something he had to worry about. Until now.

He waited for Nick to get out of class and come home. He sent a quick  _Important. I need your phone to call someone_ text over iMessage and waited. Nick walked through the door at four, expecting Richie to be asleep, and had his phone ripped out of his pocket.

“Jesus – what the fuck, Rich?”

“Let me make this phone call and I’ll explain everything” he responded quickly, already dialing the number into the phone. He listened to the line ring a total of five times before someone picked up.

“Hello, my name is Richie Tozier. Someone left this number with me last night… Larry, hi… yeah I have a couple minutes,” Richie paused, absentmindedly bringing his hand up to his mouth to chew on his cuticles. “Really?” Another pause. “Yeah. I think we could do Saturday. Can I call you back to confirm once I talk with eve – no this isn’t my number… Nick, our drummer…. Yeah. Yeah, of course. Thank – thank you so much. Yeah, we’ll be there.  _Thank you_. Yeah. Thank you. Alright. You, too. Bye.”

It was another minute before he lowered the phone from his ear. There was a piercing ringing going through his head and he hardly heard when Nick frantically asked who was on the phone. He didn’t really snap out of it until he Nick’s hands were on his shoulder and he was roughly pulled forward.

“Early to Dick! C’mon Rich don’t leave me hanging, you can’t do me dirty like this. Who the  _fuck_  was on the phone?” Nick was practically yelling in his face, his voice a haze between excitement and confusion. He was jittery, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. The energy in the room had shifted from dreary to buzzed. They could feel electricity shooting in every empty space and sparking where they touched. Richie’s face slowly shifted from awestruck wonder to a crazed sort of excitement. His eyes became wild and his grin nearly split his face in half.

“We’re gonna be big, Nicky. I can feel it.”

Three days later the four of them were crammed into a small, white room with a producer, a manager, and Larry himself. The room was just big enough for the band to set their equipment up. They were asked to play three songs. They played  _Darling, Get out_ and  _Wanton Somebody_ first. Larry told them to play one of the songs he had heard that week for their final song,  _The Ragged Minute_. Richie and Amber sang slow and soft into the mic, both gently plucking the strings of their guitars. The bass line was quiet and slow and the drums were a gentle backbeat to keep the music flowing. This was one of the few songs that had survived from the early days of  _Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants_. Richie had written the lyrics alone in his dorm one day and Amber demanded they bring it to life.

 _And if I never see your face again_  
Know I still hear your voice in my dreams  
And I’ll sing it into this refrain  
As I come apart at the seams

The final chord echoed out into the room before silence overtook. Richie stood with his mouth pressed into the microphone and his hands still in position on the final chord. Jake let the strap around his neck carry the weight of his bass, Nick kept his arms up and his sticks in hand, and Amber slowly lifted her guitar off her body and gently propped it on the ground next to her. The three men in suits starred at them, expressions unreadable.

Larry was the first to speak up. “Well, boys? What do you think? I told you they could have what it takes.”

A man with cropped black hair and a black suit to match turned his head towards Larry and sucked his teeth almost comically. He paused for another painstaking moment before smiling.

That was it. That was all it took for Richie Tozier and  _Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants_ to get discovered in L.A. Suddenly the group had a manager and was releasing a small E.P. in stores and on Spotify. The group gained traction fast with the help of the marketing and advertising team. They had a unique sound, pop punk mixed with alternative with a hint of swing thrown in, and it was easy to sell something young and fresh. They gathered a small following in the span of two months since releasing their E.P. and toured that May, hitting small venues in major cities around the country. They didn’t sell out but they sold enough tickets to break even on the costs of recording and traveling. This wasn’t the kind of tour that makes you money, though. It was the kind that gets your name out there. The promoting kind of tour.

The kind of inspiration and motivation that came with a tour was overwhelming to the group. By the time they returned they were ready to record ten new songs and produce their first album. After that it was smooth sailing. They got radio play, interviews, and attention nationwide.  _Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants_ was officially an up and coming band. It was enough for Richie to really have something to show for himself. He got a modest apartment in Westwood, bought himself a semi-respectable wardrobe of clothing, and had his phone turned back on. Roughly fifty percent of his money went into a savings account he never touched and other half went towards expenses and recreation. By the time he was twenty-one he was living better than all of his other friends. He had flown Bev out on multiple occasions and had gone to see her in NYC just as many times. He visited all of the Losers when he could and had tickets saved for them during every show that landed him in one of their cities.

Well. All except for one.

He had fallen out of contact with Eddie not long after they left for college. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Eddie had disappeared from all of their lives. There was no  _falling out of contact._  It was more like a deliberate cut. None of the other Losers had trouble keeping communication up and all of them were sure to call Eddie as much as they called everyone else, Richie especially. Eddie had just stopped answering the phone and Richie’s efforts slowed.

_Classes fucking sucked, that’s for sure. Nothing entertaining ever happened at 8am College Algebra 101. Richie came into his room and threw his backpack on to his bed. His roommate was out, probably at lunch or something, and Richie had the room entirely to himself. He picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number._

_“Richie!” a high voice answers from the other line, “What a surprise! I miss you, hun.”_

_“I miss you, too, toots” he says with a fond smile in his voice. Bev was just getting out of her afternoon class at NYU. It was some kind of intro to design class that she loved and he would rather talk about her passion than his lack thereof. “God I hate this college thing. Classes are so awful.”_

_“Aw c’mon Trashmouth, there must be something there to keep you busy.”_

_“There’s plenty, but nothing about math makes me wanna cum in my pants.”_

_She laughs a hearty belly laugh at this. “Fuck, Rich. You’re so gross. Look, I gotta go. I’m meeting some friends for coffee so we can study for trig.”_

_“But Bev, I’m so lonely.” He wails into the phone. His fake sobs only taper off when she tuts at him and laughs again._

_“Call one of the others. I’m sure they’d love to talk.”_

_Once he relents she eventually hung up. As if he’s running on autopilot he opens up his contacts and clicks on Eddie’s name. It’s been about two months since anyone has heard anything from him and while he knows Eddie’s not going to pick up the phone it’s at least worth a shot. The phone doesn’t even ring this time. Instead, the only thing he hears come through the line is an electronic voice._

_“We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected and is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check –”_

He played in Philadelphia during his first tour. His manager had managed to get them a spot at Union Transfer before heading up to the similarly named Union Hall in NYC. Riche had wondered if Eddie would be in the crowd. Probably not. There was no way to know if Eddie had even heard of his band before. There was no way to know if Eddie was even still in this area. He knew that Eddie’s school was somewhere near Philly but he couldn’t remember where. Eddie had told him a hundred times probably and had he known he’d never speak to him again he would have memorized it. He didn’t realize their time was so limited.

They had played their set to a packed-out venue. It was small, people stood shoulder to shoulder, and realistically they knew most of the people who were there came for the headliner. Yeah, some had come to see them but this also was their chance to win some new fans. It worked in the end but none of them were the one that Richie really wanted.

Life goes on, anyhow. That night ends at the same time as all of the others and Richie always finds himself moving into the next day. He prefers to let things like this simmer on the backburner. He throws himself into his music, into helping mold their band into what it is today, and makes himself forget all about the lonely feeling of losing a piece of the whole. It comes back every now and then. Sometimes it’s a full force typhoon and it knocks him on his ass. Other times, almost infinitely, it is a dull ache in the back of his chest. He’s lived with it for so long, now it’s almost part of him. But if he stops to pay attention – really pay attention – he can feel it tugging at the worn-out muscles of his heart.  

And now, four years after that tour Richie is walking into an office on Hilgard Avenue not far from his apartment in Westwood. It’s a simple building that houses several professional looking offices. Richie has never really paid any of them much attention. His sole reason for ever entering a building that simultaneously houses an eBay drop off point, a comic book store, and a real-estate agent is his knight in a shining pantsuit.

“Sharron, my main squeeze! How’s it hanging?” Richie asks brightly, flopping back into the chair he sat in every week. Well, the weeks he was in town. He always made sure to have his schedule clear of any music related meetings on Thursdays.

“Hello Richie,” she responds, voice a pleasant neutral. “How are you this week?” She wore a natural smile and had a genuine curiosity in her eyes.

“Well, you know how I went home a few weeks ago?”

“Six months, and yes. I remember.”

“Jeez, time sure flies don’t it. Well, you’ll never guess what happened!” He cracks a grin but he knows she sees right through it. She always does.

“I’d love to guess,” she laughs, “but I won’t.”

“Aw, c’mon. Why not? It would be fun.”

“I’ve been waiting for this to come up, actually. You’ve been different. Not in a bad way, just something I’ve noticed” she hums in response.

“So why didn’t you bring it up?”

“You have to come to these things on your own, Richie. Your speed, your pace.”

“Fuck, I hate it when you therapize me, Sharron.”

“I know you do. That’s specifically why you pay me every week to do it.” she says smartly. There’s a coy smile on her face and a glint in her eye. This is why they get along so well. She’s not afraid to fire back at him.

Richie gives a full belly laugh at that. “Right, yeah. Anyway, my trip home. It was nice. I was there for like three weeks.

“Yes, I remember.”

“Yeah. I saw the ‘rents, I fucked around in some old stomping grounds. We celebrated my mom’s birthday and my dad’s in advance since I wouldn’t be able to make it up a second time”

She hums in acknowledgement, encouraging him to continue with his story. He takes the bait willingly.

“I helped out around the house, bought them groceries so they wouldn’t have to. And you know, while I was at the store I bumped into an old friend.” He pauses and scrubs his hands down his face.

“This old friend seems to have had quite the impact. I can see the tension in your shoulders.”

“Yeah, he did.” Richie sighs. He tried to visibly relax his shoulders. She was right, he could feel the knots forming from how tightly they were hunched. Silence fell in the room, it was almost suffocating.

Sharon waited for Richie for a couple beats before asking in a soft voice, “Who was this old friend, Richie?”

He eyed her warily. He’s been seeing Sharon since he was about 20 but his defenses always manage to sneak through. He had had something of a mental break down while at Jake’s dorm before they were signed. He was working crazy hours, living on the streets, and wrestling with his own demons. He was caught somewhere between affording his own place and food and realizing Eddie was never going to be in his life again.

_“Richie! Richie, stop!” Jake’s voice echoed through the dorm. Papers and clothes and hygiene products from his backpack were scattered all over the room. Richie was pacing back and forth, his grip on his hair so rough he was practically tearing chunks out from the roots. He couldn’t feel it. He was too worked up. Everything felt like it was crumbling around him but in slow motion. His breaths were ragged and irregular and his vision was blurring around the edges._

_He couldn’t stop. He could not stop. Everything was falling apart. He told his parents he would be okay, that he can do this, but he can’t. He fucking can’t. There’s no way that a nineteen-year-old kid should be doing the things he’s doing. It’s not like they know. If they knew they would never let this fly, but he couldn’t tell him he failed. He couldn’t go back home. Not to Derry where he would shrivel up into nothing and die a nobody in the sand. He couldn’t fail again. He failed at school. He failed at keeping his best friend in his life. He couldn’t fail his parents, too._

_“Richie, please.” Jake stood up in front of Richie, stopping him in his tracks. “Calm down.”_

_“I can’t, Jake. I fucking can’t! Don’t you get it? Don’t you see? I – I, fuck. I just can’t fucking do this! Whatever the fuck this is. Nothing makes any sense anymore. It’s all pointless! Why the fuck are we here?” Richie was talking quick, alternating between speaking in a low voice and shouting. He wasn’t trying to shout at Jake, he was just shouting, but he did feel bad when he saw Jake flinch away. “Why am I here? I’m never going to amount to anything, man. I just ruined my entire future! I threw it all away!”_

_“Richie, c’mon. You know that’s not true. You know college isn’t for everyone.” Jake said as he reached forward in what he meant as a comfort but instead caused Richie to step backwards and spin around. He walked towards Jake’s window and looked out. The window was shut but he could still see the ground below him. He was peering down, forehead pressed against the cool glass. People we’re walking below them, unaware of the chaos happening eight stories above them. When Richie spoke again his voice came out soft a low, like he lost all of the fight in him._

_“Why am I even here, Jake? I don’t have anything. I’m a homeless college dropout. I can’t even get my best friend to talk to me anymore! I have nothing left to live for.”_

_“Don’t you ever fucking say that!” Jake bellowed from behind him. This time the grip on his shoulder was rough. Richie was spun around pushed until his knees hit the back of Jake’s mattress. He fell back roughly and starred up at Jake. He could feel hot tears he didn’t even know he was crying run down his face. “Fuck him! Fuck anyone who tells you any different. You’re going to light the sky up one day. You’re going to blow everyone else out of the water. And he’ll be sorry he ever let you go. You are worth so much more than you know, Richie Tozier.”_

Well, up until six months ago.

She was looking at him like she knew the answers. Sharon was good at that. She always seemed to know what was going on before Richie told her.

He took a deep breath before saying in the steadiest voice he could muster, “Eddie.”

“Is this the same Eddie –”

“Yes Sharron, the same Eddie that broke my heart into a million tiny, fragile pieces and brought you and I together in holy counsel-mony to begin this beautiful therapy-tastic relationship she we have now.”

“And how was seeing him again?” She asked. Her voice was that same calming neutral from the beginning of the session. She wasn’t taking his bait to be playful. She knew it was nothing but a diversion, something to throw her scent off of how much Eddie affected him. It was fruitless. They’ve had this discussion before. Sharron knows all there is to know about Eddie Kaspbrak.

He tells her, anyway. He tells her about their fight in the grocery store that was more like Richie yelling at Eddie and Eddie starring back like a deer caught in headlights. He tells her how he pouted for days to the point where his parents asked him if something had happened. He told her about climbing into Eddie’s window and getting stuck. He was too big and too old to be climbing through people’s bedroom windows but that didn’t stop him. He tells her about their night together. Sharron has always been privy to even the most intimate details of Richie’s life. She’s heard about his one-night stands, the time he tried to date a groupie, and everything in between. She listens the entire time, nodding her head and asking him to go on when he tries to stop. She’s good at coaxing stories out of him. He’s a talker and she knows it.

“I didn’t see him again after the funeral,” Richie finishes. When he glances at the clock he sees that he’s chewed up the majority of their time together. “I haven’t heard anything since.”

“That must have been really hard, Richie. You’ve been carrying that with you this entire time.”

“Yeah,” he says in a sort of laugh. “I have. He left me a note, though. Before he left. He knew I’d go back to his room and – I mean I didn’t even know he’d left. I climbed in through the window and there was this paper on the bed. I knew it was for me, who else would it be for? No one really lived there anymore.”

Sharron looks at him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t she asks, “Do you want to talk about the note, Richie?”

He skirts around the topic a bit for a few minutes. The session ends with a promise to discuss the letter next week and Richie left feeling lighter than he had in months. They hadn’t really accomplished anything but it felt good to finally tell someone. It was like he had been walking around with something that was somehow both a gaping hole in his chest and a debilitating weight inside of him. His chest had been carved out and hollowed while his stomach was pumped with excess fluid. In the six months since he had been home he had become a bloated shell of his former self.

Some of the fluid drained in that room and the rest is on its way out of him, he hopes.

Less than a week later Richie finds himself sitting in their managers office for the umpteenth time, only today is more than just talk shows and recording studios and publicity. This time it’s a tour. They’ve been on two tours before this one. The first was their opener tour when they jumped from small venue to small venue opening for whoever they could. The second was touring with the Fratelli’s in 2015 when Richie was twenty-one and the remaining members were ranging from twenty-one to twenty-three. Richie and Amber even had the privilege of joining Jon on stage during Chelsea Dagger.

This isn’t just a tour, though. This is their tour. This is  _Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants_ taking on a three-month cross-country tour, hitting major venues in major cities from Miami to New York City to Houston and back to their birth town of L.A. They get their own opener, their own stage crew, their own bus, their own everything.

They have spent most of September, October, and November arranging the details for what the tour would look like for the release of their album,  _Here Goes Nothing._

 _Here goes nothing, indeed,_  Richie thinks to himself as he sits on the couch to the left of Jake. Amber is draped across both of their laps and Nick is sitting in the only other chair in the office. Richie may be a front man and a pretty face but Nick was the glue that held him together. He was the business major in their merry band of UCLA students. Richie counts himself in this posse even though he’s the only one who never finished.

Richie zones out, staring out the window. Their meeting is taking place on the twelfth floor, giving him an endless view of the city beneath them. Its mid-December in L.A. and he can see cars driving below them and people on the sidewalk. He wonders where they are going and thinks about the people inside of them. They’re probably all off living their best LA lives. Maybe those two women are on their lunch break. Maybe that man is heading home to his love. Maybe that girl walking down the sidewalk is off to a date with some friends. He thinks about where he would be going if he were down there. Would he be going to lunch with his friends? Unlikely. His only local friends are in this room with him and everyone else who matters is scattered across the country. Would he be on his break from work? Richie Tozier makes his own schedule. He eats, breaths, and sleeps in the recording studio or in his writing room. Going home to his love? Ha. Now that one’s just funny.

The meeting wraps up seamlessly. Everything is falling into place as it should. They’ll begin their tour in March of 2018 when the rest of the country begins to thaw. They will do meet and greets in major cities and some intimate shows in smaller venues. Richie tunes in for this part, listening closely to the different cities they’ll be hitting. His heart drops when his manger tells them they’ll be hitting Pittsburg instead of Philadelphia in this tour. They’ve hit Philly the last two times they went east and they don’t have enough time to do both cities. Amber notices the way his thighs tense under her head and she looks up at him with curious eyes. He looks back only a moment and shrugs before turning his attention back to their manager. This is probably for the best. At least in Pittsburg he can focus on playing a show rather than trying to see past the lights into a crowd, trying to find a face he knows he won’t see.

Two days later, like clockwork, Richie is back at Sharron’s.

“What’s holding you back, Richie?” Sharron asks from her usual spot in her office. She sits in a swiveling chair not too far from Richie’s place on her couch. It looks more comfortable than the one he has but he can’t complain. She’s sitting here all day and he’s only got one hour.

“I don’t know,” is all he says in response. He’s being honest with her. There’s no charade in this room. He’s not hiding behind his jokes or his Voices. He learned years ago that doing that was only going to result in him wasting his money.

“I think you do know, Richie. Let’s sit for a moment. I want to give you some space to work through this.” Her voice floats to him in a comforting kind of way. There is no heat or demanding inflection there. He knows that he could tell her to fuck off and they would move on to the next topic of discussion. He doesn’t do this. He wants this space to work through things. He knows – and she knows, too – that if he doesn’t have this space right here, right now, he’s going to walk out of this office with a pocket full of empty promises.

A comfortable silence falls over the room. Richie sits back in his chair, leans his head against the headrest, and closes his eyes. He takes two deep breathes before mentally addressing the question Sharron was asking him. What was holding him back?

“I’m scared,” comes out automatically.

“Of what?”

“He just left, you know? Again. He just left again.” Richie’s voice is quiet. His usual volume is cut by more than half. The energy in the room is a gentle, contemplative calm and he feels like if he speaks much louder than a murmur the atmosphere will be destroyed and he will lose all train of thought.

“He left again,” she echo’s back to him.

“Yeah, he did. He didn’t even say goodbye. I just – he was gone. He couldn’t even tell me to my face. Fucking coward.” His voice retains that low volume but it’s swimming in emotion. He shifts in his chair and picks his head off of the headrest.

“You’re frustrated.”

“You bet your ass I am.”

“Tell me about the note, Richie.”

“The note is bullshit. It says he loves me but we’re not meant to be or some shit. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. He didn’t give us a fighting chance.”

“What would you have said if he did?”

“Fucking – I don’t know, Sharron,” his left leg bounces wildly and he absently picks at his cuticles, sometimes bringing a hand up to bite at the loose skin. “This would be so much easier if he never cut me off. And you know the sick part? The really fucking sick part? I still have no idea why he did it. I had my dick buried in his ass and I still have no idea why he fucking left like that.”

The room falls into a soft silence. Richie’s voice was hardly above a whisper, the aggression from before short-lived. When he looks back down to his hands he sees blood pooling around the nail on his thumb. He quickly wraps it up in his shirt both to hide it from Sharron and to stop the bleeding. She looks at him curiously, he knows she saw but he also knows she won’t bring it up.

“Eddie means a lot to you.”

“Yeah, I thought we covered that in the first session.” He doesn’t mean for there to be heat behind his words but there is. He can’t help it. Between Eddie and his note and his upcoming tour there is nothing keeping him anchored to the ground. His emotions are running haywire and he has nowhere to put them. His band needs him to be cool, calm, and collected and Eddie could probably give less than two fucks about what Richie’s doing right now.

“We used to talk about Eddie in the past tense. We used to say he meant a lot to you. Now it’s evident he still does.” She says back, maintaining her composure.

The room falls into another silence. That’s the theme of this week’s meeting, apparently.

“I leave for my tour, soon. In a few months.” It’s not a subject change, they both know it.

“I can tell that this is a big deal for you.”

“I’ll be going back to the East coast.”

“And that’s where Eddie is?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says with an accidental laugh. And it’s ironic, isn’t it? Ever since he came West the East has been both a hometown and a graveyard for him. He tells her as much and she smiles kindly back at him and tilts her head forward. It’s a silent cue to keep going. Fuck, she’s good at her job. He can feel a dam he didn’t know was there beginning to break down, words he didn’t know he needed to confess pouring through the cracks. “I could call him,” he says. “He left a phone number at the end of the note. That’s gotta mean he wants to talk to me, right? But it’s been six months. And he’s the one who left, he should be the one to call me – except he doesn’t have my number.”

He pauses and looks at her. He knows he just dropped a major bomb, having had Eddie’s number for the entire six months since the incident. He expects her to say something about it, to chide him for bringing this emotional turmoil down on himself but she doesn’t.

“You’re scared to call him,” she says instead, drawing back to Richie’s previous statement. Instead of answering he nods. He can’t help but hear a robotic voice in his head. It taunts him. He’s afraid he’ll hear it again.

We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected and is no longer in service

_The walk home from the grocery store was quick mainly due to Richie’s adrenaline induced pace. His heart was hammering in his chest and he couldn’t even see straight. Of all fucking people to run into in the frozen food section he sees Eddie Fucking Kaspbrak. Nothing could have prepared him for that. Nothing could have stopped the intense emotional overflow he was feeling right now._

_It’s been literal years since any of the Losers have heard a peep from Eddie. He wasn’t really present on any social media and there was no real way to reach him. Ben had even tried sending a few letters to his college address. All of them went unanswered. One came back to them with_ No Such Resident _written in bold sharpie._

_He could feel anger coursing through his veins. His heart was pounding. Who the fuck does he think he is, coming back to Derry after all these years? How fucking dare he show his face in this town after everything he did._

_Or, well. Didn’t do. Purposefully, intentionally did not do._

_The entire house shakes with the force of him slamming the door when he walks inside._

_“Richie? Honey? Is that you? Is everything okay?” Maggie calls from the other room but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even give her the chance to intercept him in the hall before he is up the stairs and slamming the door to his bedroom with equal force._

_He feels like a petulant child having a temper tantrum. Maybe he is. He thinks he would be okay with that as he throws himself down onto his mattress and muffles his frustrated scream with his pillow. He needs to release the chaotic, emotionally charged energy he has thrumming through his body. He thrashes in place for a moment, legs kicking out wildly against his childhood bed. When he settles he feels better, but only mildly._

_Once the anger fades he’s forced to deal with any residual emotions from the encounter. Sharron would have been proud. He could have picked himself up and gone downstairs or to the Falcon bar for a drink to drown it all away. He could shrug it off and pretend it never happened. Just lock it up tight with a key in his chest until his next breakdown in her office. He doesn’t do any of this. He proudly sits up in his bed and lets himself feel his emotions in all of their raw, unbidden glory._

_He tries to name them as they come. Anger is the biggest one but if there’s anything he’s learned over the years it’s that anger is usually a cover for a deeper, more taboo emotion._

_Regret is there. Regret for not having punched Eddie in the face. Regret for all of the years they lost. Regret for giving up so easily._

_Sadness is also there. He feels it deep in his bones. He missed Eddie. This was not how he pictured their reunion going. There was no heartfelt speech. There was no apology from Eddie but Richie realizes too late he never really let there be room for any of that. He snapped and stormed off._

_Richie expects all of this. He’s felt it all before. The sadness, the regret, the anger. All of it is familiar territory. What catches him by surprise, though, is that beneath all of it he feels a pull in the bottom of his stomach. If he had to name it he would call it longing. Eddie looked good. The years apart had done him well. His eyes were that deep, cool grey they always had been but they changed, too. He looked more worn out than Richie had ever remembered seeing him. There was no confidence in his posture, only exhaustion and what Richie could only assume to be the weight of the world on his shoulders. His shoulders had broadened out and his jawline was sharper. He was still shorter than Richie but he filled out his body well. Amidst his anger Richie wanted to reach out and grab him, drag him closer. He wanted to get all up in Eddie’s space and never let him go. At the time Richie chalked it up to having missed him so fiercely but now, in his room, he feels it running deeper than just that.._

Tour starts coming and it doesn’t stop coming. The first month is a whirlwind of chaos. The band performs at venues small and large, some of them even sold out. They do meet and greets and signing sessions and even one or two talk shows in major cities. If they’re not doing a sound check or in their tour bus their talking to an interviewer or interacting with fans in some way. Richie thrives off of the attention. He lives for it. Their fans are sweet. He’s taken more selfies in the past four weeks than he probably has in his entire life.

In his free time, he scrolls through Twitter and Instagram to see what they’ve all been tagged in. Fans post the selfies and some cool pictures of the band on stage. Richie’s current favorite is a picture of him mid-jump, guitar in hand. Its surprisingly good quality but hey, that’s what technology is these days. He looks like something out of a bad band poster and he’s in love with it. He messaged the young fan who took it and reposted it to all of his social media.

They started by crawling their way across the South. He does what he does every time and he buys the Losers all tickets. When they hit Atlanta, he saves two tickets for Stan and he finally meets the heavenly goddess that is Patty. He can see in the way Stan looks at her that she’s the one for him. While they hang backstage, he wonders if it will be a spring or a fall wedding for the happy couple. It’s inevitable, he thinks. It just a matter of time. He’ll see Bev, Bill, and Mike in New York and Ben in Chicago, where he’s posted up for the time being.

He doesn’t tell anyone about how his nerves creep further and further up his throat the closer he gets to the East coast. It’s a last-minute decision but he sends a handful of tickets to Eddie’s address in Maine and sends a text to the number he’s had saved, untouched, in his phone for seven months.

They play shows in Charlotte, Washing D.C., Cincinnati, and Baltimore before they hit Pennsylvania. The shows go quick and slow at the same time. Richie feels like it might just be the most painful two weeks of his life. In the days leading up to Pittsburg, Amber pulls him aside.

“Alright, Richie. Spill,” she says as she pulls him into her dressing room backstage in Baltimore.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, kitten.” He says cooly. They’re eying each other, Amber with her arms crossed over her chest and Richie with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“I’ve known you for years. You can’t fool me.” For someone who likes to pretend he has it all under control he really is an open book.

Regardless, he cocks his head and smirks at her, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her hips. With anyone else it would look seductive but this is who they are. They’ve never fucked and never will but there is a certain chemistry in the room. The tabloids have mistaken them for a couple so many times that they just started rolling with it to fuck with them. He’s gotten enough angry calls from his manager about the pages in between gossip magazines to fill his entire voicemail.

“Sweetheart, everything is alright,” he coos into her ear, laughing when she laughs at the sensation of his breath on her ear.

“You liar!” she giggles back at him, “I can tell something is bothering you. You’re all, I don’t know. Jittery.”

“Babe I’m a walking attention deficit. That won’t hold up in court.”

“You know what I mean! Normally you’re all calm and collected and loving it,” she says pushing his arms off her and backing away.

“I still am.”

“You’re not focused, though,” she shoots back. “You don’t have to talk to me, but I’m gonna be sticking this entire tour out with you whether you like it or not.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she smiles at her. It’s genuine. For someone who is all twisted up in knots it’s refreshing to know he has spent the past few years surrounding himself with genuinely good people.

“Cool. Well. You know where to find me, then.”

He leaves her to get ready in her dressing room and goes to do the same in his. The show goes off without a hitch, as normal. Richie takes Ambers words to heart. He plays the show with more focus and more energy than he did in the past few cities. The crowd goes wild for it.

Pittsburg is an experience on its own. They’re scheduled to be there for three nights and two days total. They arrive in the middle of the night on a Friday and spend all of Saturday setting up, interviewing, and seeing the city. It’s a beautiful city with steep hills, tall buildings, and a wild college life. Richie opts to stay in his hotel for the majority of their first day while the others get breakfast. He doesn’t admit to them that he’s scared of who he might find on the streets down there. He knows the chances are slim to none but he isn’t ready to face the choices he’s made.

He’s due in at an interview at 3pm that lasts approximately an hour. The woman asks him about his musical journey, brings up his college days, and asks about his love life. It’s all the same typical bullshit. Halfway through the interview he’s tempted to ask her why reporters don’t ask original questions. He’s told the story of his college dropout bar backing days a million times. Why don’t they ever want to hear anything new?

He bites his tongue, smiles, and makes his way through it. Cookie cutter questions with cookie cutter answers. From there he moves straight to the stadium their set to play in. They do a sound check, chill with their openers, and then it’s time for their meet and greet session. They spend roughly two hours before the show talking and signing with fans and then have a two-hour break while the openers perform. Richie watches bits and pieces of the sets from the wing of the stage and before he knows it the stage hands are changing out the equipment and they’re just about ready to go. Richie knows Eddie is not here. He feels it somewhere deep in his body. Richie is five hours away from where Eddie lives and Eddie would have had to get the tickets from Maine before coming all the way out here. The odds are nonexistent. He had sent Eddie a meet and greet pass, too, on the off chance he came. Eddie did not shuffle through that line of awkward teenagers dying to meet a star.

This show is not as smooth as the others. At one point, Richie breaks a string on his guitar. At another, he loses his footing and stumbles through a chorus with Amber before eating the stage. They all laugh it off on stage and carry on but the others give him wary looks. They can see the way he’s squinting past the lights as if he’s searching for something.

He never finds what he’s looking for.

When all is said and done he brushes it off by saying it’s nerve wracking to be so close to home. The closest he’s going to get is New York and there is no time for a side trip to Maine to see his family. He promised he would fly out after the tour but the reality of that happening is another four months away at least.

The crew and bands both head out to drinks at the local college bars but, again, Richie stays behind. Amber looks as if she wants to say something to him when he bails on them. She opens her mouth and closes it a few times before settling with a curt goodnight.

The next day is a similar course of events except instead of an interview the band has a photo shoot on the outskirts of the city. Richie spends this time making up for the night before. He has twice the energy and it shows in pictures they take. In each candid he is crawling over another member of the band. At one point he is in Nick’s arms, bridal style. In another he is climbing on Jake’s back like a monkey. They’re all laughing at each other and at him. Any residual nerves from the night before melt away and, thankfully, the good mood carries into their nightly performance.

They find themselves at a smaller, intimate venue. Standing room only with a bar in the back. It was a last-minute booking but it was easy to fit in. their shoot kept them in the city for the day so they figured they might as well play for someone. Their openers don’t join them. This kind of show is one the band loves but rarely gets to do. Richie, Jake, and Amber all get stools to sit on and while they play their upbeat and energetic songs they have more time to chat into the mic with the audience. The audience engages with them all night. They bob to the music, sing when Richie points his mic at them, and laugh at the banter happening on stage. Overall, Richie’s favorite show of the tour.

Richie eyes Amber before looking back out into the audience.

“Well, looks like we’re gonna have to wrap up soon.” The audience boos. “But don’t worry. We’re not going to go anywhere without playing one more song. This next one is my absolute favorite that we’ve made. It’s an oldie. I don’t know why they still let me sing this one but I’m grateful they do.”

He strums a chord on his guitar before Nick starts with a soft, steady beat on the drums. Amber joined in, then Jake, and together they create a melody that rises through the rafters of that loved, worn out venue. It lifts Richie up with it. He feels like he could see the world from up there in between those dusty pillars. The stage lights were bright but when he played  _The Ragged Minute_  everything always came into focus. After a few measures he closes his eyes, leans into the microphone, and sings from his base of his heart.

He didn’t open his eyes again until the final chorus. When he does, their eyes lock almost instantaneously. The worlds do not clash together, time does not stop. Despite what he thought would happen, Richie doesn’t miss a beat.

 _And if I never see your face again_  
Know I still hear your voice in my dreams  
And I’ll sing it into this refrain  
As I come apart at the seams

The audience bursts into roaring applause, knowing that with a two-hour set there is no encore. The cheers are deafening in the small space but Richie can’t even hear them. He can only focus on one thing. There he is, standing right up against the barrier that keeps fans away from the stage is Eddie Kaspbrak in the flesh. He’s staring up at Richie with the stage lights in his eyes and an unreadable expression on his face. There’s a smile dancing on his lips and he’s clapping but there’s something else there. Or maybe Richie just wants there to be something else.

It takes a smack on the shoulder from Amber for him to come back to reality. He jolts and looks at her quickly before taking the mic and thanking the audience. He wishes them a goodnight and, together, the band makes to leave the stage. On his way off Richie cannot take his eyes off of Eddie, still standing pressed against the guardrail.

Backstage, Richie is an anxious mess. He’s itching out of his skin more than normal and demanding to go outside for a cigarette.

“Not until you tell me who the fuck that was, Tozier. In all the time I’ve known you I’ve never seen you look at someone like that. I’ve never even heard you talk about someone,” Jake says from his spot directly in front of Richie.

“Yes, you have,” is all Richie says back. They stare long and hard at each other for a moment before Jake’s eyes soften at the realization.

“Holy shit –”

“Let me outside, Jake.” Jake steps aside and Richie slips past him and the others quickly. He knows his manager will be pissed if he pulls a disappearing act but he could care less. He misses the look they all share. “Don’t wait up for me,” he shouts over his shoulder before his skin makes contact with the crisp Pennsylvania air and the door slams shut.

Eddie isn’t by the stage door he comes out of so he paces around outside, stalking the perimeter of the building. Eddie isn’t outside at all, he realizes. Panic sets in and, for a moment, he’s convinced Eddie has already left or he never existed in the first place. He starts towards the front doors of the venue when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

_Eddie Kaspbrak [11:24pm]: Is this your tour bus?  
Eddie Kaspbrak [11:24pm]: Fancy._

Before he even knows what he’s doing Richie has turned on his heels and is marching towards where is tour bus is parked. They parked a few blocks over because there was no real space near the venue. The equipment truck was already moved parked by the side doors he left from and he could see a few of the crew members hauling amplifiers and wires into it as he passed by.

He turns left at the corner, walks one more block, and then turns right. Sure enough, standing by the doors of the  _Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants_ tour bus is Eddie. He was facing away from where Richie had stopped cold in his tracks and was talking to a girl. Richie stands there for a moment admiring the view he has. He can feel that ice cold fear creeping up his arms and into his throat. It’s like his legs are cemented in place and if he moves, even takes one step forward, the illusion in front of his will shatter and he’ll find himself alone on this sidewalk.

He sees the girl smile and her lips move and then he hears Eddie’s laugh echo through the empty streets as he throws his head back. It’s beautiful. He can’t remember the last time he heard that laugh. When he saw Eddie back in the summer there was no laughter. There was no time for jokes or humor. There was only raw emotions and the lingering stench of mourning.

It’s not much longer before he gets noticed. He sees the girl freeze mid-sentence as she makes eye contact with Richie over Eddie’s shoulder. Slowly, she raises her hand and points, nodding her head in the direction of Richie. Even slower, Eddie turns around and soon their standing there, staring at each other half a city block apart.

Richie expects the world to freeze around them. He expects all of the sound to get sucked out into a vacuum and leave the three of them standing in an empty chasm of bad choices and unfiltered emotions. Instead, a car honks its horn from the next street over and he feels the wind tousle his hair.

The world keeps spinning.

The girl says something again and Eddie just nods. They don’t take their eyes off of each other. The three of them could probably stand there all night until the rest of the band and crew comes to collect the bus. Richie realizes that someone else coming and finding them is inevitable and, reluctantly, he takes a step forward. Eddie does, too, and soon they’re meeting in the middle. Up close like this Richie can see the lines in Eddie’s face and the upwards furrow of his eyebrow. His lower lip puffy like it’s been chewed on and his hands are alternating between being clenched together in front of him or in his pockets.

“You came,” Richie says staring down at Eddie. Eddie just nods at him. “I didn’t think you would.”

“You can thank Natalie for that,” Eddie says, voice barely above a whisper.

Richie looks up over Eddie’s shoulder and see’s the girl in question, Natalie, standing further back and staring at the two of them. “Thank you, Natalie.”

“Better late than never,” is all she says in response.

A small quiet settles over them. No one is sure of what to say and Richie can feel at itch crawling up his throat to say something inappropriate of funny.

“Your band is good,” Eddie says eventually. The conversation is strained, forced. This isn’t what Richie wants. He doesn’t want to talk about his band or the weather or how Eddie ended up here. There are so many words in the back of his throat threatening to spill over.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, rushed and frantic. He glances at Natalie before looking back down at Eddie. Would it be rude to ask her to go somewhere else? He can pay for a hotel room if they don’t already have one. Hell, he’ll even drop her off.

Eddie seems to read Richie’s mind because he looks over his shoulder at Natalie.

“If I have to put him back together again the next time they’ll see you is in a body bag, Tozier,” she says before turning around and walking down the street. He knows she means it. She turns the corner and then it’s just the two of them.

“Where were you thinking?” Eddie asks and it’s a reasonable question but, in all honesty, he didn’t think he’d get this far. He suggests a bar a few blocks away and they walk there in relative silence. There’s something between them that Richie doesn’t want to name. It could be tension, it could be anticipation, it could be hatred or love or literally anything. He tries not to think on it too long. He tries not to think about how they’re walking so close together and if he took his hands from his pockets he could easily take Eddie’s in his. He tries not to think about how bad he wants that.

They get to the bar and Richie buys them both drinks, an old fashioned for himself and a dry martini for Eddie. They settle into a booth in the back of the bar with dim overhead lighting where the music is the faintest it’s going to get.

“You look good,” Eddie says, shouting over the music.

“Thanks, so do you”

They end up making small talk, anyway. Eddie asks about Richie’s band and Richie tells him about Nick, Jake, and Amber. He already knows about Richie’s dropping out and all of the other details the interviews beat to death so he asks Richie if he likes music and touring and how his family is. In return, Richie asks about Eddie’s life. He learns that Eddie is a graduate student halfway through his degree. He wants to counsel young adults and focus on trauma. He also learns that Eddie has a cat, his own apartment, and works more than any one person should. Eddie learns that Richie still does Improv when he has the time and it’s his dream to join a real performing team once his music career is over. Richie never planned on riding  _Twenty-Seven Odd Elephants_  out until they die. He figures they’d produce maybe five solid albums before calling it quits. It’s better to die at the top of your ladder than to fall back down to the bottom. He doesn’t want this to be his entire life. He wants more. He wants so much more.

They talk until the bar thins out. Richie orders them another round and insists that he pays for it. Eddie took off work to be here. Richie is getting paid as they speak.

“My aunt forwarded my mail and when Nat saw the tickets she demanded we drive out. We missed last night, though,” Eddie says, making intense eye contact with his martini.

“Good thing I sent tickets to both shows,” Richie smiles at him. Eddie smiles back but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He keeps staring into his drink, swirling it slightly before taking another sip. Richie follows, taking a drink from his glass.

“Richie –” Eddie starts.

“Hey, Eds–” Richie begins.

They both stop short, looking at each other and then back down to their drinks.

“You first,” Richie says. His questions can wait. He’d much rather hear what Eddie has to say first.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, starting again. “Um. Look. I’m – fuck there’s no way to say this where it sounds genuine but you gotta know it is, Richie. You have to know I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do it?” Richie asks. There’s no venom in his voice.

“I don’t know. I felt so trapped, you know? I just – you were all out there having the time of your lives and I wasn’t at first. I was so alone. I was falling behind. I couldn’t keep up. And then I met Adam and he told me that it was better off like this and I was just still so in love with you that I snapped. I couldn’t do it anymore. I’m so sorry, Richie.” Eddie voice comes out quick. He looks as if he’s on the verge of tears. He shakes his head before putting it in his hands and taking a shaky breath. “I thought he loved me. I thought I loved him, too. I thought it was better than being alone but by the time I realized his love only came in bruises and bottles of alcohol it was too late. I hadn’t spoken to any of you in years. How could I go back? Why would any of you take me back?”

At some point Richie’s hand snaked across the table and was gently holding Eddie’s arm. The smaller boy was shaking in front of him.

“I was a mess without you. I didn’t know why you would just disappear. I was a wreck for months. My friends made me start going to therapy just to let it all go but I should have tried harder. I know I should have. And god, I was so stupid. I didn’t realize I was in love with you until after I saw you in Derry. Until you were already gone again.”

Eddie looked up at the confessions falling from Richie’s mouth.

“I’ve fucked so many people but I think they were all just fillers for you,” Richie says, trying to get his point across.

Eddie blinks once at him before throwing his head back in a full belly laugh. The tears lingering in his eyes spill over the ledge and he whips at the them with the backs of his hands.

“God, Richie. You’ll always be a trashmouth, won’t you?” he says between giggles. Richie laughs with him and before they know it they’ve both devolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. It feels so good. Richie hasn’t felt this light in years.

They stay in the bar until last call and then walk into the cool night air together. They don’t talk about what their confessions might mean, they don’t talk about the future. Without realizing it they end up stopped in front of Richie’s hotel. Richie looks at him with a silent question. If Eddie wants to leave, wants to go back to his hotel and leave in the morning, he can. Richie won’t stop him.

“Is this you?” Eddie asks. Richie nods. “Cool,” Eddie says and starts walking towards the doors. Richie follows a few paces behind.

They make their way upstairs and soon the door clicks shut behind them and it’s just the two of them. There’s no outside world or prying eyes. It’s just Richie, Eddie, and the weight of the situation bearing down on their shoulders.

“It’s late,” Richie says just to fill the space between them.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, quick but not harsh. He pauses for a minute, like there’s something on the tip of his tongue but it never comes out and when Richie turns to say something he isn’t given the chance. Eddie’s hands are suddenly on his chest and his mouth against is Richie’s. The kiss is rough and off center, Eddie initially missing his mouth and his kiss lands in the space between his upper lip and nose. He shifts his head and then their kissing. Richie feels it then. The dam, the one he didn’t even know he had inside of him, bursts open and everything he’s kept inside of his chest comes bursting out. It floods his entire system. He can’t think straight, he can’t make sense of anything other than the feel of Eddie’s lips moving against his.

Eddie doesn’t waste any time. He fists his hands in the collar of Richie’s shirt and drags him down to his level before pushing them back towards the bed. When Richie’s knees hit the mattress and he falls back he brings Eddie down with him. The kiss is messy. It’s all tongues and spit and clashing teeth. It’s needy and desperate and everything Richie has been feeling for the past few hours – for the past few years.

When Eddie pulls back Richie sees a glint of determination in his eyes. It’s been there all night but now Richie can really see it. Richie reaches up and runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair.  _This is it,_ he thinks,  _it’s him._

Eddie comes back down for another kiss. He drags his teeth over Richie’s bottom lip making Richie mewl beneath him. Richie can already feel his pants growing tighter and they’ve only been at it for a few minutes. After a second Eddie is running his tongue along Richie lower lip and, without hesitation, Richie opens up for him. They explore each other, tongues slides against each other. Eddie licks the top of Richie’s mouth and Richie shivers at the feeling.

Eddie captures Richie’s lips in a final, chaste kiss before trailing kisses up the side of his face and to his ear. He felt Eddie’s hot breath and shuddered before hearing Eddie whisper, “Want some more?”

Richie lets out an audible groan as Eddie takes his ear lobe in between his teeth and sucks lightly before moving and trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down his neck. He scrapes his teeth down Richie’s pulse point before sucking a dark bruise into the skin All Richie could do was lay pliant under Eddie’s weight as the smaller boy worked his way down.

The temperature shifts and the entire room feels hot to Richie. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, neck, and chest. Everywhere Eddie was touching sent sparks flying through his body. Eddie shifts his weight, straddling Richie’s hips and pushing himself up. He runs his hands down Richie’s side causing him squirm beneath Eddie.

“Richie,” Eddie whispers, “is this okay?” Richie nods. “You’ll tell me to stop if you need me to?” Richie nods again and lifts his arms up to take his shirt off. Once it’s off he reaches for Eddie’s sides. He doesn’t make it far. Eddie quickly grabs his arms and pins them to the bed. He shakes his head and tuts lightly before sitting back on his calves. The view is breathtaking as Eddie slowly grabs the hem of his own shirt and lifts it above his head. Eddie isn’t muscular by any means but up close Richie can see the lean definition of his stomach and chest. Richie wants to reach out and run his through the patch of hair trailing down into his jeans or up and tweak his nipples but he keeps them planted firmly on the bed. Eddie takes his sweet time dragging his shirt up over his head. He makes sure to linger with his arms raised to give Richie a perfect few of his body. When he finishes his hair is mussed and he stars down at Richie with dark, hooded eyes.

Richie can feel all of the blood draining down his body and into his dick, which presses painfully hard against the zipper of his jeans. If Eddie notices he makes no move to relieve Richie, he just sits on Richie’s lower abdomen for what’s probably only a few minutes but seems like an eternity, eyes racking over Richie’s body.

Eddie mumbles something under his breath which could either be  _so pretty_  or  _how shitty_. Richie isn’t quite sure which it is because Eddie raises a hand to roughly tweak at one of Richie’s nipples. A shock runs through his body and he lets out an involuntary whine, arching into the touch. Eddie is quick to pull his fingers away, smiling down at Richie in an innocent, mischievous way. Richie expects to be chided, told not to move or arch up but Eddie doesn’t say anything. He just traces his pointer down the center of Richie’s chest and through his happy trail. Eddie traces patterns over Richie’s body. Hearts, triangles, figure eights, all of it causing Richie to twist and shudder.

He seems content in taking his time. It’s like he doesn’t even notice Richie’s erection pressing into the crack of his ass. Every time Eddie adjusts to get a better view or run his hands over something out of reach Richie can feel his ass slide and rock against his cock. By the fourth of fifth time it takes all of Richie’s will power not to flip their position and take control. Richie will never admit this to anyone else, maybe never even Eddie, but this entire situation is turning him on more than anything else. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t moved his hands yet, but something about letting Eddie have complete and total control over this is both thrilling and extremely hot.

Somehow Eddie seems to read his mind because suddenly he’s leaning down and whispering into Richie’s ear.

“I’m gonna make you mine.”

Richie groans again, lifting his hips, searching for any kind of friction. Eddie simply raises onto his knees just out of reach and looks down at Richie again.

“What’s the problem, Rich?” he says, voice dripping in innocence.

“Fuck you, you know what the problem is.” Richie says back, desperation in his voice.

“Now, now. That’s not how good boys are supposed to talk,” Eddie shoots back lightly. His eyes go dark and all of the innocence drips away from his face like hot wax from a candle. “Only good boys get rewarded. Are you a good boy, Richie?”

Richie sputters, his brain working faster than his mouth is able to. He finally manages a yes with a head nod to which Eddie makes a pleased noise in response.

“Sit up, Richie,” Eddie instructs. Richie does without hesitation and Eddie slides back directly into Richie’s lap. Richie outright moans at the pressure, bucking his hips up gently to chase his pleasure. “Kiss me.”

Richie surges forward, connecting their lips in an almost violent way. He tests the waters and brings his hands up to rest of Eddie’s sides. He needs some kind of contact, some kind of control. He’ll have anything that Eddie will let him have. He runs his tongue over Eddie’s bottom lip and Eddie opens up for him. He lets Richie have this ounce of control.

They kiss like that for a while. Eddie on Richie’s lap and Richie with his hands on Eddie’s waist. He can feel every inch of Eddie pressed up against him, from his thighs to his chest to his lips. Eddie has firmly pressed himself against every inch of Richie he can reach. Richie can feel Eddie’s own desire pressing into his stomach.

“Eddie, let me touch you, please,” Richie pants out between kisses. Eddie rolls his hip into Richie’s abdomen in response. Each time he does, he brings his hips back down into Richie’s lap almost as an afterthought. The barely there pressure is maddening.

“Wanna touch me, Rich?” he whines, “Wanna make me feel good?”

Richie nods, quick and dumb. He watches as Eddie leans back and runs his hands down his own chest and down the front of his body, eventually cupping himself through his jeans. He moans and throws his head back.

“Wanna make me cum, Richie?” he says again, like something straight out of porn. Fuck, when did Eddie become such a show boy?

“Yes, yes please Eddie. I wanna make you cum. I wanna make you feel so good.  _Please_.”

“Oh, you will.” Eddie says, punctuating it with one final, hard roll of his hips before climbing out of Richie’s lap. Richie practically whimpers at the loss of contact but stays still on the bed until Eddie orders him on his knees. Richie scrambles down, body buzzing with anticipation. His arousal is a throbbing afterthought and he absently brings his hands down to his zipper to release the painful tension in his pants. Eddie stops him, grabbing his wrist and sucking his teeth. “Nope. Not yet.”

Richie watches as Eddie slowly, slowly pops the button of his jeans and drags the zipper down. When he slides them down his legs and steps out of them Richie finds himself face to face with the tent in Eddie’s boxers. He leans forward and mouths at the Eddie’s silhouette causing the boy above him to let out a startled moan.

“Please,” he says, muffled around the fabric. When he looks up, Eddie simply nods and Richie takes that has his cue to drag Eddie’s boxers down and run his tongue up the length of his cock. He can feel Eddie’s shudder above him. He braces his hands on Eddie’s thighs and drags his mouth down the side of Eddie’s cock, licking and sucking his way down and back up. From there he takes the tip in his mouth and hollows his cheeks, moaning when he hears Eddie groan above him and fist his hands in Richie’s hair. Eddie’s hips start to move, then, and Richie understands where this is going. He relaxes his jaw and lets Eddie slide in and out of his mouth, shallow at first and then getting deeper on each thrust. He gags slightly at the feeling of Eddie hitting the back of his throat but the resistance fades. Soon, Eddie was full out fucking Richie’s face, whining above him. Richie became a moaning, drooling mess on Eddie’s cock, with tears rolling down the side of his face. The noises Eddie was making were only spurring Richie to take as much of Eddie as he could. When Eddie eventually pulled off he looked thoroughly wrecked, cheeks wet and blotchy, lips red and swollen. The sudden release causes Richie double over and suck in gasping breath after breath.

Eddie bent down quickly, holding Richie’s face in his hands. “Are you okay?” Richie nods desperately, gasping to catch his breath. Eddie gives him a second to recover before commanding “Good, get back on the bed.”

Richie does as he’s told, crawling onto the mattress and lying on his back to look at Eddie. Reminiscent of before, Eddie crawls on top of Richie except instead of settling on his stomach Eddie sits straight on Richie’s lap and wastes no time in grinding his hips down. Richie meets his with enthusiasm. His hands find Eddie’s hips again but they’re pushed away and above his head. This time, Eddie keeps his hands there, holding Richie down onto the bed and mercilessly grinding their hips together. Between Eddie outright fucking his face and now this, it doesn’t take long before Richie is a mess under him. He could come from this alone if they kept at it.

“You wanna fuck me, Rich?” Eddie says, voice sultry smooth. When Richie nods instead of answering Eddie stills on top of him, pressing his hips down hard enough to still Richie’s movements, too. “Huh, Richie?”

“Yes,” Richie croaks out, voice absolutely wrecked.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes,” Richie says again, louder this time.

“No. I wanna hear you  _beg_  for it.” Richie feels sparks of arousal shoot through his body. His too warm skin grows hot, almost on fire.

“Please, Eddie. Please. I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you so hard. God, Eddie,  _please_. I’ll make you feel so good. Let me touch you. Let me open you up,” Richie pleads. He doesn’t care if he looks desperate. He is desperate.

“No touching,” Eddie whispers in his ear as he lets go of Richie’s wrists and sits back. He leans over the bed, ass in the air, and grabs his pants from the floor. Richie can’t resist this time and he smacks Eddie’s ass, hard. Eddie jolts forward and then snaps up, eyes burning. “You’re gonna regret that, Tozier,” he spits out before leaning back down and pulling a bottle of lube and a condom from his pants, as well as his shirt from before. He tosses the condom on the bed and puts the lube in his lap before grabbing the shirt and bringing it up to Richie’s arms, which have settled back over his head. He uses the shirt to tie them together. The bind is loose enough to break if Richie wants but the idea is still there. And the idea is hot as hell.

Before he settles back in Richie’s lap, Eddie undoes the button and zipper on Richie’s jeans and swiftly yanks both his jeans and boxers down in one pull. Then he’s back in Richie’s lap, popping the bottle open and squeezing some onto his fingers.

“Wait,” Richie starts, “Let me, Eds, please.”

“Only good boys get to finger me, Rich. And you’re not a good boy.”

Richie whines. He knows he could break the illusion. He could easily twist his hands out of his makeshift handcuffs, flip them over and fuck Eddie into the mattress. He doesn’t, though. There’s something so incredibly hot about Eddie being in control like this. Maybe it’s the fire in Eddie’s eyes. Maybe it’s the way Eddie handles him. Maybe it’s the way that he’s never given control over before. Not to anyone.

He watches as Eddie spreads the slick substance over his fingers for a second, warming it up, before he lifts onto his knees and brings his hands back to tease his hole. His eyes are on Richie’s, burning holes through his skull.

Eddie moans lightly, eyes fluttering shut and back arching. He’s going to put on a show, no doubt. Richie’s eyes dart between watching Eddie’s fingers dance lightly over his rim and watching Eddie’s face screw up in a mixture of anticipation and pleasure. He switches back to Eddie’s hand just in time to see one digit disappear from sight. He watches as it slowly, slowly sinks deeper and he hears as the room is filled with the sounds of light gasps and moans. Once it’s buried to the knuckle he drags it out just as slow as before. He repeats the process of agonizingly dragging his finger in and out for an eternity before he slowly, slowly adds a second finger. This time, when he presses in to the knuckle he keeps his hand there for a moment. Richie can see Eddie’s hand moving slightly as its buried deep inside of himself. He flicks his eyes up to see Eddie’s eyes screwed shut and his mouth hanging open, pink lips slick with spit. His back is arched and his nipples pointed. It’s beautiful and so god damn sexy. Richie automatically rolls his hips up into the air, making contact with nothing.

“Oh god, Eddie. You’re so beautiful like this. Let me put my hands on you, please.”

Eddie offers him no response. He just pulls his fingers out and presses them back in, moaning loudly. His head falls back and his hips lift up a little and then bear down to meet his fingers, his cock bouncing between them. He sets a rhythm on himself, thrusting up and dropping down in time with the  _uh, uh, uh’s_  that fall from his lips. Richie could feel the heat burning in his stomach.

“Eddie, baby,  _please_ ,” Richie begs.

“God, Richie. This feels so good. Imagine if it was you, with your long fingers. You’d get so deep in me. Places I could never reach.”

“I’ll be good. I promise. Please let me touch you.”

“Imagine if this was your cock,” Eddie continues, either not hearing or choosing to ignore Richie entirely, “filling me up. Fucking me so good. God, I can remember how it feels, Rich. Been thinking about it for so long.”

Eddie adds a third finger and pistons his hand for a few seconds before pulling out entirely.

“Ready, Richie? I’ll let you fuck me but only if you’re good.”

“I’ll be good. I promise, Eddie,” Richie whines, absolutely desperate for even a touch from Eddie.

When Eddie grabs his neglected cock, Richie all but shouts. It was resting on his stomach untouched save for when Eddie was grinding on him. Eddie pumps him slow and teasing before grabbing the discarded condom and unwrapping it, rolling the latex onto Richie. He’s quick to grab the lube, stripping Richie messily before shifting back onto his knees.

“Remember, baby,” Eddie crooned, lining Richie up with his hole, “I’m in control.”

Then Eddie is sinking down onto Richie. The tight heat feels incredible around Richie and it takes everything he has left in him to not cum on the spot. Both of their breathing goes rags as Eddie bottoms out and stills so he can adjust.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Richie asks, nothing but sweetness in his voice. Eddie nods, eyes closed. “Fuck me, baby.”

“I’m gonna,” Eddie shoot back, eyes snapping open as he lifts his hips and slams back down onto Richie with no warning. Richie howls, eyes rolling back into his head as Eddie sets a brutal pace on top of him. “You like that, Rich? Huh?” he moans obscenely. Richie’s hands pull at the shirt their bound in, itching to break free and grab Eddie’s dick, his waist, anywhere he can reach. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Eddie slams down again and then drags up slowly, clenching the entire way and making Richie’s body shake with pleasure. From there the pace is slow, tortuous. Eddie’s eyes are trained on Richie, watching as he comes undone below him. His hips roll smoothly and his Riche’s eyes roll back into his head.

Richie’s hips stutter up to meet him and Eddie slows his pace even more, dragging himself languidly up and down Richie’s cock. Richie is an incoherent mess of  _fucks_ and  _oh yeah’s_  and  _oh god’s._

“Are you a good boy, Richie?” Eddie asks, voice high and needy.

“I am – fuck. I’m a good boy. Please, Eddie.” Richie answers, voice just as high.

Eddie breaks, then. Reaching up and dragging Richie’s arms closer so he can untie the shirt. He nods frantically and Richie takes the hint to flip them, pushing Eddie’s back into the mattress and fucking into him relentlessly. Eddie becomes a moaning, panting mess underneath him. It doesn’t take long before their coming undone.

“Richie, fuck. Yes, yes,  _fuck yes_ ,” Richie listens, watches as Eddie goes taut under him. His moans get choked in his throat and he clenches down on Richie before he’s painting both of their chests with rope after rope of cum. Richie follows soon after, chasing his orgasm erratically. He collapses onto Eddie spilling into the condom after a few rough thrusts.

They stay like that, coming down from their highs together until their breathing evens out and the cum on their chests starts to dry. Richie moves first, pushing off of Eddie to stand on weak legs. He makes his way to the bathroom in his room and wets two of the washcloths in warm water. He brings it back and uses one to clean the mess of himself and Eddie. He gently runs the second one down Eddie’s body, cleaning him and soothing his skin. He runs it over his shoulders, his chest, and his stomach in gentle, circular motions causing Eddie to close his eyes and hum at the feeling. When he finishes, Eddie has a lazy smile on his face.

“Was that okay?” Richie asks gently, settling next to Eddie on the mattress.

“Was that okay for me? What that okay for  _you_?” Eddie chuckles back at him. He rolls over on his side, facing Richie with a genuine smile. He takes the cloth out of Richie’s hand and runs weakly runs across Richie’s skin. The cloth is cold but the intention is there.  _I have you I’m going to take care of you._

“It was perfect for me,” Richie says, voice gentle in the quiet room. Now that it’s over everything seems different. It’s as if the entire room has changed from a charged, hot, desperate atmosphere and now they have to face the consequences of what they did. He knows what comes next. It’s the inevitable fall. They’re coming down from their highs and the ground is so, so close now. It’s only a matter of time before they crash.

“When do you leave Pittsburg?” Eddie asks, soft and quiet. There’s something forced in his voice, like he’s trying to make it casual and emotionless but something is slipping through the cracks.

“Tomorrow,” Richie responds, “around noon.” That less than 10 hours away and that unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air. “Listen –”

“Richie –” Eddie starts at the same time, stopping almost as suddenly.

“No, you go.”

“This isn’t sustainable, is it Richie?” Eddie asks. Suddenly he’s so small in front of Richie. That man from only twenty minutes ago who was so bold and in charge is gone. This side of Eddie, this is the side that doesn’t always get to be seen.

God, Richie wants it to be sustainable. He does. But fuck, how is it possible? Eddie has school. Richie has his band. He’s only halfway through his tour and there’s no way Eddie can come with him. Eddie has internships and jobs and his own place. It’s almost like they’re always going to find themselves in this constant cycle of always just missing each other.

“It can be,” Richie finds himself saying anyway. He wants it to be true. He wants it so fucking bad.

“How?” Eddie falters, voice cracking. His eyes are closed but Richie can see him shaking. Richie instantly brings a hand up to Eddie’s cheek, covering the expanse with his palm and running his thumb under Eddie’s eye.

“Baby,” he coos, “don’t cry. It’s okay.”

Eddie just hiccups and shakes under his palm, tears coming to life against either of their wishes. “I can’t lose you again.”

Richie doesn’t respond. He gathers Eddie up in his arms and tries to squeeze the all of the hurt and sadness out of him. He can feel Eddie soaking his shirt and hopes that Eddie couldn’t feel Richie’s own tears falling into his hair.

They fall asleep like that, tangled in each other’s arms until the telltale sound of knocking wakes them up the next day. Before either one of them could process what was happening the tour bus was being loaded up and Richie was standing on the steps, staring down at Eddie.

“I’ll call you,” he says before his manager is behind him, urging him onto the bus.

“I’ll answer,” Eddie replies and then the bus is starting and the equipment truck is pulling out of the lot, taking the lead. Eddie watches it go. Richie sees as Eddie stands there to watch the bus jerk forward and follow the other trucks in their party. And when Richie throws down the window and hangs himself out of it to catch one last glimpse, Eddie is still there.

“I love you!” he shouts as the bus turns out of the lot. He thinks he hears Eddie say it back over the loud rumble of the vehicle. He holds onto the hope that he did all the way back to L.A.

Tour moves forward. They play New York and he sees the others Losers. He does not tell them about Eddie. He didn’t tell them before, why should he now? He’s determined to enjoy the time he has, not rehash old wounds and start new gossip. He plays Chicago and see’s Ben. He travels across the expanse of the country, playing music and singing songs. He sways with the crowd, drinks with his friends, and slowly, slowly, crawls home. He gets concerned glances from his band but it’s easy enough to dodge. Put on a smile, sing the song, dance the dance.

He does call Eddie, too, but it’s harder than he wants it to be. Eddie is in class or at work when he’s free. Richie is playing shows when Eddie finishes up. The manage to catch each other once a week, maybe, and it’s all too much. There’s never enough time for everything that’s gone unsaid. He thinks about what Eddie said, how this isn’t sustainable, and it breaks his heart.

By the time he’s returned home and the tour is over he’s exhausted. They play one final hometown show for L.A. and call it a wrap. There’s a party in a club downtown and he goes. He wants to go. He has to go. It’s their last hoorah. The  _Here Goes Nothing_  tour is over. It’s dead and gone and memories in the wind now. So, Richie parties. Because if there’s anything life has taught him it’s to celebrate the victories that actually happen, not the ones you wish happened.

He finds himself in his apartment a week later. He calls it his decompression time. He’s told his record label, his manager, and everyone important to fuck off for a few days and let him be at home. All of that partying, all of that performing for others has worn him thin. He needs time. The rest of the band understands, too, because they feel it. Everyone scurries off to their own little hole the second the lights are down and the parties finished. He doesn’t have to justify himself. He’s allowed to break down his walls and build them back up. He’s allowed to mourn his loss for the final time.

It takes him three weeks to come around. He spends the first week eating only takeout and neglecting himself. He spends more time in bed than any tour before. He shuts out social media and closes himself off to the world around him. A call from Amber to for a coffee date pulls him out of it and the following two weeks pass easier. He even sees Sharron on the third. Her words can’t drain the wreckage from his body but they bring him comfort either way. She understands him in a way he’s not sure anyone else ever will.

_This is good, Richie. You taking those two weeks to honor your emotions. You can’t heal if you push it all away. This demon from your past. He isn’t a demon anymore. He is mortal and now you can conquer him fully I can’t fix you, Richie. You have to do these things for yourself. I’m proud to see you doing just that._

It isn’t until two weeks after that he starts to feel like himself again. Sharron helps him work through his emotions. His band helps him avoid isolating himself. Altogether, his post tour recovery begins to sail smoothly. A surprising, sharp, deliberate knock on his door at the end of the fifth week. He knows it won’t be anyone from the label – they don’t make house calls. He thinks it could be Jake or Nick or Amber or his mail delivery person. All of those seem so likely that he doesn’t bother dressing. He pads over to the door in the same thing he’s been wearing for two straight days – a red plaid pair of boxer shorts.

He removes the chain lock, flips the dead bolt, twists the door lock, and turns the handle. When he pushes the door open all of the air inside the apartment and the hallway and the entire world slipped through a vacuum and Richie was left breathless in his own doorway.

“I’m sorry. I should have called.”

Richie doesn’t wait for him to say anything else. He launches forward and grabs Eddie, wrapping up on him like a koala bear on a particularly fun looking branch. One hand reaches across his back and the other comes up to cradle his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have stopped calling,” Richie answers. It’s not fair to Richie to leave the blame there and they both know it but Eddie doesn’t correct him. He throws his arms around Richie with just as much force and it sends them both careening into the wall next to the door.

“I couldn’t let you go again,” Eddie says into the skin of Richie’s chest. “We can make this work. I know – fuck this is a long shot. But hear me out. I’m between clinicals and I don’t start my next site until the fall. We can spend the rest of the summer together. If you’ll have me. We can do this, Richie. I’m not letting you go again.”

Richie laughs directly into Eddie’s hair and nods frantically. He picks Eddie up and swings him into the apartment before setting him on the counter and taking Eddie’s face in his hands. He presses a series of quick, gentle kisses to Eddie’s lips before kissing him fully. Fuck giving up. Fuck not giving them a fighting chance. Fuck walking around with a piece of himself across the country. He wants this. He’s always wanted this, it just took him way too long to understand it. The details can be worked out. He doesn’t have another tour coming, Eddie only has one year left of school. No one ever said it was going to be easy. But the things in life that are worth it never are.

_The ink is running toward the page_  
_It's chasin' off the days_  
_Look back at both feet_  
_And that winding knee_  
_I missed your skin when you were east  
_ _You clicked your heels and wished for me_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise, Bishop's Knife Trick has a continuation piece! 
> 
> This fic is a monster and a long time in the making. It was not originally for prompt week but I’m really glad I got to include it in this project. This isn’t my favorite piece, I struggled with it a lot but I was determined damn it. I just hope it lands well. 
> 
> I'm thankful to the It Fandom Week crew for not only creating this amazing project but giving me the motivation (and deadline) I needed to make this happen and the support I needed to actually finish it. Tinyarmedtrex, Leighwrites, mseg_21, chocolatemangoose, richttps, didsw, and godtozier - You guys are amazing. 
> 
> Thank you for all of the support if you read this far, you made it! Come yell about this series with me at Reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com


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